Paint It Black: The Story of Jezebel Engblom
by green.pepsi.cola
Summary: The life of the newly discovered daughter of Skip, possibly the most unfatherlike character ever. Rating upped for situations involving drugs, just to be safe.
1. An Arrival and the Birth Of A Tomboy

**Paint It Black: The Story of Jezebel Engblom**

_Chapter 1: An Arrival and the Birth of a Tomboy_

(Disc.: Don't own LoDt. I don't own Blackbird, either. That belongs to The Beatles.)

'Blackbird fly, blackbird fly

Into the light of the dark black night

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly

Into the light of the dark black night

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life'

"Skip, Jezebel Lola. Bella, daddy. Take care of her. Bella, be good for daddy. I'll be back soon to take you to New York." The plump, stout brunette thrust the three-year-old child into her father's arms.

That was my mother. Yeah, never saw her again. Skip Engblom did not have the slightest notion how to raise a little girl. That's how I met Philaine and Jay Adams. I was at their apartment all the time. I remember the first time I went there; it was that exact day, the very first. I remember it so clearly….

*Flashback*

" 'Lane, can you take care of her for me? Name's Jezebel." Skip held me, a squirming, angry little girl, by the hand.

"Sure, Skip." Philaine answered in her laid-back, breezy California-hippie way, gently ushering me through the door.

*End Flashback*

He left me there for fourteen days. Fourteen days before the idiot finally came back for me. It was the first of many two-week periods I would stay with them, sometimes shorter, sometimes longer. One day, when Jay was six and I was four, he came home from school with Tony and Stacy on skateboards. At this point they were nothing more than cheap plastic boards, but I really wanted to try. I ran outside and down the steps excitedly; Jay had never brought anyone 'home'.

"I wanna try." I protested in my stubborn, now four-year-old voice.

"No Bella you'll hurt yourself. Go watch Mickey, okay?" Stacy coaxed like he usually did when they didn't want to be bothered with me.

"NO! I SAID WANNA SKATEBOARD! LEMME TRY!" I shouted hot-temperedly, stamping my bare foot on the cement. Fake crocodile tears sprang to my eyes, the result of months of practice.

"Okay you can try, just no more hollering." Jay had given in, as usual; even at that age I knew what I wanted, and I got it.

And that was how I learned to skate. I wasn't very good; hell, I'm still not very good. I don't care; I love it anyway, just about as much as I love surfing. Which I _am_ good at. It's hard being the one of the only girls (excluding Peggy, just about my best friend of the group) hanging out with a bunch of boys. Most people just assume I've slept with all of them, being so close and all, which is as far from the truth as reality. I'm like a little sister; I'm fifteen, they're seventeen, we're all too much alike. Nothing will change that. I skate, they skate, I surf, they surf, everything they do, hell I probably do it too. I drink, I swear, I spit, I pull pranks, I party, I hang out with the same crowd. Only two things set me apart from the boys, and those were heavy eye makeup and certain 'assets' as Tony would call them.

I took a swig of vodka from the bottle under the counter, which I was ever-so-professionally lounging on, working in the shop. There were a few browsers, but other than that it was pretty much empty. Usually the browsers would have been kicked out by now, but I really don't care. Zephyr; it was a filthy, dusty, nasty looking little shop from the outside, (and kinda the inside too…) but most people don't care. They just want to surf, they don't need anything fancy. At least, that's how I usually explain it. Peggy skated through the front door, which we left hanging open for lack of air circulation, waving two tickets in my face. Peggy's a year older than me, and totally the most awesome person I know.

"Dude, who? How? Where? When?" I couldn't even form complete sentences. I set the liquor bottle down, since I'm a klutz and prone to breaking and/or dropping things, before she continued.

"Oi! Who, she says! Who else? The Sex Pistols, of course! I won them from the radio. It's in downtown Del Mar in two weeks. I've just got one question for you… YOU WANNA COME WITH?" She shouted melodramatically.

"Are you insane? Of course I wanna go you dolt!" I screeched.

"God Save the Queen!" We shouted in unison, leaning back to back.

Sorry, am I scaring you? As you can tell (obviously, I mean come on…) we're both obsessed with the Sex Pistols. We've even spontaneously adapted to use British slang.

"Peg, are these back stage tix?" I asked suddenly.

"Hell yes!"

"Let's go gloat. Skipper, we're going out! Get your ass out here and watch your own damn shop, I'm too young to work here anyway!"

Sorry, but I could just never picture him as a father figure, it's not like he cared if I spouted profanity at him, he was just 'Skip' to me. Never 'dad' or 'father'. He was a stoner, an alcoholic, and a partier. How could anyone see him as a father figure? I mean, I know he cares about me; but he cares about all the guys on the skate team. Just because he's my dad doesn't mean I have to be all affectionate with him.

Hold on, back up. I don't know why I said that, how could you possibly know about the team? Last month Skip decided to start a skateboarding team for the guys who were always surfing, skating, and hanging around the shop. They're all good kids, it's just some of them get a little carried away. Take Jay, for example. He acts tough; he's rude, loud, and obnoxious, but he takes care of his mother. That boy loves his mother more than I love chocolate (which is a whole lot).

Tony is just all around arrogant, but he'd protect his little sister Kathy with his life. I mean, the kid is even protective of her with his best friend, whom she's dating. He doesn't even like Kathy and Stacy touching, and Stacy's probably the safest one of us. That's pretty much all I can say about the team, other than we all have to wear dark blue t-shirts to competitions (as if you cared).

We skated out the door, although I immediately collided with Sid, who was, coincidentally entering the shop as I attempted to exit.

"Sorry baby Sid, it's really shitty today. Not like it isn't that way any other day, but it's horrible. I think Skip needed some boards stocked. See ya later!" I apologized, ruffling his hair.

Sid's a year older than me, yet I still call him baby Sid. It's kinda strange how things work out like that, y'know? Anyway, I'm getting way off-topic. We went out the door (unscathed this time) and down the street to the elementary playground, where everyone was most likely gathering. First person we caught a hold of was Shogo Kubo; I've kinda got a huge crush on him, even if he's not that great of an English speaker (and Wentzle Ruml too, but that's not the point).

"Sho, we're goin' to a Sex Pistols concert!" Peggy screamed from about 50 feet away. What a lung capacity.

"No fair, I wanna go! Where the hell didja get those!" Shogo rarely freaks out about anything, but then again, the Sex Pistols aren't just anything, or rather anyone.

"WKLJ, stupid! Where else?" I shouted; that was pretty much the only station most of us listened to.

Next, we (or rather I, again) ran into Jay. Literally, I ran into him; didn't seem to faze him much, though.

"Dude, guess whose concert we're going to, Jayboy?" I asked stupidly.

"Hmmm… the Easter Bunny's? I hear he gets a pretty good crowd this time of year."

"Shut up, jack. No, we're going to see the fucking Sex Pistols…." I started.

"God save the Queen!" Both me and Peggy shout simultaneously again, resuming our famous back to back 'Charlie's Angels' pose.

We went around for the next two hours announcing our triumph to every one of our friends, until a few people decided to tackle.

"Enough already!" Was the last thing I heard before my back hit concrete and I felt myself being held down by Jay and Tony.

I giggled hysterically, unable to catch my breath; having two boys on top of me was not the optimal situation for breathing.


	2. The Concert and Her Decision

Paint It Black: The Story of Jezebel Engblom

_Chapter 2: A Concert and Her Decision_

(Disc.: Nope, sorry. I don't own Five Minutes to Midnight by Boys Like Girls either.)

(A/N:Please excuse the lack of z-boy mania from this chapter. Character building, you know, ha ha.)

'And when the clock strikes twelve

Will you find another boy to go and kiss and tell?

'Cause you know I never will

I think we should strike a match

And we'll hold it in the wind to see how long it lasts

We could make the time stand still'

_One Week Later_

She couldn't believe it. They were at a Sex Pistols concert. 'The fucking Sex Pistols, man!' was all Jezebel could think. Peggy was equally excited, but showed the same restraint in making that known to the general public, lightly brushing it off as just another of their little adventures. But even if they refused to admit it, secretly they were just dying inside with explosive eagerness. Jezebel's gray eyes danced happily and her elbow length hair shifted with the slight breeze as she stood with Peggy in the line to enter the show. They could hear distant screaming and rumbling within, the stomp of feet on metal stands, the buzz of chatter from the mosh pit and surrounding standing area. The pit already had a few scraggly-looking people in it, though only the sucky intro band played their clashing metal and unpracticed, screaming punk voices echoing, adding to the din of the sold-out show.

jThe blood pounded in her ears, pulsed through her veins, and the music mingled with it in its constant rush to her head as she entered the doors. The pure, unadulterated sound assaulted her ears, amazing her to no end. As they entered the stadium, people bounced around, most of them in black with crazy hair and multiple piercings. Jezebel grabbed onto the leather jacket of the nearest person, who happened to look quite friendly.

"Hey, who's the shitty opening band?" She shouted at the top of her lungs to be heard over the blasting amplifiers.

"I dunno, The Freaks, or some shit." He shouted back. "You wanna go up front? Bring your friend there along." He suggested, gesturing to Peggy.

"Fuck yes we do!" Jezebel shouted more loudly than before, as two people turned to look at her.

She bounced over to Peggy, who was only standing about a foot away, and cupped her hands around the other girl's ear to relay the other guy's message.

"Are you kidding? I wanna get so close to the stage that Johnny spits on me!" She yelled over the din, her voice carrying better than her younger friend.

"Hey, so d'ya know of any places to get _clean _piercings around here? Particularly around Dogtown?" Jezebel asked the guy who had invited them up front, noticing that he had his eyebrow pierced.

"Piercing studios in Dogtown? Yeah, there's one over on 5th street, they're pretty cool. Also one on Bicknell Avenue." The guy answered.

"Thanks." She returned her attention to the concert madness unfolding in front of her.

Peggy was leaning both elbows on the edge of the stage, about a foot away from the singer, whom she was secretly in love with (or so she said). Her eyes beheld an odd sort of glaze, as if she was entranced and Johnny Rotten was some sort of science specimen being studied in biology lab. For a second he made eye contact with her and she squealed loudly, but her noises were lost in the crowd. Jezebel watched her in awe and giggled at her reaction. Her favourite was Sid, even though he couldn't sing and wasn't a very good guitar player either... in fact she had absolutely no idea what he brought to the band, except for an image. Maybe that was it.

The concert was pretty amazing, she decided as she headed backstage with Peggy and Bret, the guy whom had invited them to the front. Turned out he was acquainted with the drummer, Paul Cook. He was actually pretty awesome; he lived in Del Mar, was in his early twenties. He had actually offered to let Jezebel and Peggy hang around his apartment for the night, which was fine by them. He wasn't too much of a creep, plus he was offering for free. Jezebel had no idea how someone from Del Mar could possibly know a British drummer so closely, but apparently he'd visited Great Britain before.

The minute they walked into the trashed backstage area, Peggy started hyperventilating. Johnny relaxed on a beat-up old armchair, his legs draped over one arm and upper body across the other. He looked up for a second, recognized Bret, and looked away.

"Oi, Bret, who are they?" He questioned, glancing at Jezebel and Peggy once more.

"They got backstage shit, J."

"'Backstage shit', eh? Righ' on." Johnny boredly stared at his nails, which were sort of nasty looking.

By that point Peggy was practically foaming at the mouth.

"You got something go say to us, girlie?" Sid practically tumbled into the room, scratching his head. He was looking at Peggy especially; she had a simply awestruck look on her face.

"Yeah, yeah I do. I. Fucking. Love you." Jezebel answered for her; Peggy nodded in agreement, her eyes wide.

"Do ya now. Well I think I can think of something..." Sid waltzed slowly toward his dressing room and Jezebel followed him.

Jezebel never thought of herself as a groupie until after that night. In fact, it didn't really hit her until the next week, when reality caught up with her. And she could also formulate her own ideas about Peggy's tryst with the singer.

About a month after the concert, Bret called Skip's house. Jezebel had quite frankly forgotten that she'd given him the phone number that morning. Skip hollered over the din of the stereo. Jezebel emerged from her room, which she rarely slept in, to answer the phone.

"Who is it?" She yelled.

"What?" He shouted back.

"Who - oh never mind! Gimme the damn phone, Skip!" She snatched the phone from him savagely, stomping into the bathroom, dragging the phone cord and stand through the hallway and closing it in the bathroom door. She locked herself in and rested atop the dingy marble sink.

"Hello? I heard a lot of yelling. What's up? It's Bret." The voice on the line greeted her; she hardly believed her ears.

"Hey Bret, how's it? Yeah, that's just Skip... I'm his kid. Biologically, at least." She joked.

"Yeah well I'm in town skateboarding, would you mind showing me around? I'm in a phone booth on Bicknell Avenue. You could come and get that piercing you wanted... or a tattoo or something? I'd love to introduce you to my buddy Marco; he's an excellent artist at this shop. Why don't you meet me at the bottom of Bicknell Hill?" Jezebel was bewildered. It was very rarely that any guy other than one of the many z-boys actually wanted to hang out.

"Uh, sure. I can meet you there in fifteen minutes. See ya." Jezebel answered, pumping a fist and bumping the mirror.

Jezebel's head spun as she tried to remember how to get to Bicknell. She walked awestruck into the nearest store and asked the clerk for directions; a second later she was back on track. When she finally found the phone booth Bret was in, she was about five minutes late and very sweaty. For a second her heart sped up as she stared through the glass at him. His long, dark ginger hair was down today, pulled into a low ponytail, and he had a new piercing. A labret, to be exact. The phrase 'Be not nobody' popped into her head for a millisecond before he opened the glass door; it was amazing that there was still a door on the booth.

"Hi. The place is just this way. What were you thinking of getting?" He asked conversationally. She fell into step with him, quickening her pace to match his strides, as was her habit.

"I was thinking... a lip piercing... and maybe a peace symbol on my wrist?" She'd wanted to get this tattoo for a very long time, but the piercing was a relatively new idea.

"Well the lip ring will definitely be the harder one to keep clean. Tattoos don't really require that much maintenance, but you have to make sure that the piercing doesn't get infected. It's nothing to worry about, really, because I'm sure you'll be great at taking care of it." Bret rambled on a bit.

Jezebel was all for this sudden talkative burst, mostly because she couldn't think of a single thing to say. She just kept thinking of the labret, and how wonderful it looked. And how the letters b-r-e-t were in labret and 'Bret' was his name. It made her giggle.

"Here it is... I don't know how we're going to get around the policy, though. What do you think your f-" Bret said.

For a moment Jezebel forgot that Bret didn't know much about Skip, other than the fact that he was a drunk who loved loud music.

"Don't worry about it, Skip will definitely say yes, he won't care. He'll be too drunk to figure anything out until the day after anyway." She answered him, formulating her plan to get Skip to sign consent forms while he was raging drunk, which, truthfully, was never really too rage-like.

"Let's see what you think about this place and the guy I know first." She followed him into the building.


	3. If You Steal My Sunshine

**Paint It Black: The Story of Jezebel Engblom**

_Chapter 3: If You Steal My Sunshine_

(A/N: I don't own LoDt, Len lyrics, etc., I have just written the story for your reading enjoyment. I do not know the regulations for body modification in California, and certainly not in the 1970's; therefore I cannot be sure that anything stated in the following chapter is true concerning minors and piercing/tattooing. This chapter contains drug references.)

'I know it's done for me,

If you steal my sunshine.

Not something hard to see,

If you steal my sunshine.

Keeping dumb and built to beat,

If you steal my sunshine.'

Jezebel followed Bret to the back of the shop, not at all leery about the condition of the store. It was completely spotless and smelled of heavy cleaning product and sterilization. Two or three clients sat in medical-style chairs, artist's needle whirring away at some design or another. A girl with red hair, a guy in a green shirt, an older man already covered in tattoos.

"Jezebel, this is Marco, he's a really good friend of mine. Marco, this is Jezebel, she was thinking of getting some things done. A tattoo and a piercing, I believe?" Bret glanced at her questioningly.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I wanted to get a tattoo on my wrist and a lip piercing. Nice to meet you, Marco." Jezebel put her hand out and gave his outstretched one a good, firm shake. Rock music played quietly in the background, very unusual for shops around here.

"How old are you? We need a signature if you're under eighteen." Marco said.

Jezebel had hoped to slyly avoid this question, but it wasn't possible.

"Damnit... I'll get a sig..." Jezebel mumbled under her breath, once again thinking about how easy it would be to get Skip to sign the forms. 'He probably wouldn't even care', she decided.

"How about I schedule you for tomorrow, and I'll send you home with some consent forms. While you're here, though, do you have any idea what design you're thinking about? Oh, I'll get you some body modification info too, by the way." At this point Marco was sounding a bit like a used car salesman.

"I was thinking a peace sign. Something small... with the Japanese symbol for peace underneath. And I want to get my bottom lip pierced, in the left corner, also." And if Marco sounded like a used car salesman, then apparently Jezebel was interested in purchasing a car.

Or something like that.

"Oh, that'll be easy. I'll take care of you myself when you come in. See you tomorrow, then... at noon, that's the only time I can schedule you in." He reappeared from another room into which he had disappeared to locate consent forms and information.

Jezebel led Bret out of the shop.

"Want to come to Zephyr with me? I need to pick some stuff up, get these signed and talk to someone. Then maybe we can go and do something?" She asked, forms clutched in her hand.

"How far is it? The bus is coming back at 3:30 and that's the last time it comes through here today so..." Bret seemed uncertain, though she sensed it stemmed from something deeper than just not wanting to miss a bus.

"Well we're having a party later tonight too and I was wondering if you'd like to come to that... you could crash at Skip's house for tonight and one of my friends can drive you home in the morning." Jezebel suggested enthusiastically.

"That'd work, I guess. I haven't got anything to do tomorrow anyway, so I'll go back with you to get your work done." He fell into step with her, seeing as she had walked a little ahead of him.

When they got to Zephyr, Tony immediately trailed over, circling Bret like a bird in some sort of horror story. Bret gave him the scariest glare Jezebel had ever seen out of anyone, and to her surprise, Tony slunk away without even one single sarcastic remark. She giggled at the two of them, acting like territorial animals.

"SKIP! SIGN THESE FOR ME!" She shouted loudly through the entire shop; she heard what sounded like a large number of things falling about and crashing down, but thought nothing of it.

She realized that it had been Sid tripping over some things and knocking some other things over, probably because she had just yelled at the top of her lungs. Sure enough, she found him sprawled out in the doorway to the back room. Skip exited through said door, carefully stepping over Sid, but not offering to help in any way. Jezebel helped him up and handed the consent forms to Skip.

"What're these for, Jezi?" Skip took the forms without removing his sunglasses. Probably hiding bloodshot eyes or something.

"They're for a piercing and a tattoo. You don't mind, do you?" She asked innocently, trying out her puppy dog eyes.

"Girl, I don't care if you put ink on your skin or holes in your body, but if you're thinking of doing anything illegal, think twice. I really don't need any trouble after the last time..." Skip trailed off as he walked away toward the front counter.

Jezebel jumped up and down a bit, clapping her hands and wrapping her arms excitedly around Bret. He awkwardly patted her back, a crooked smile on his face as he gauged the reactions of the few people in the room. She let go of him and walked over to where Skip was.

"So... are we having a party tonight, or what?" She looked at him, deeply absorbed in attempting to sign the consent forms, and sighed as he ignored her question.

He shoved the papers at her.

"Uhm, yeah, about that... can you go down to the party store and get us some beers? We don't have any but if you go and get some we can have us a party to remember... or forget." Skip had been refraining from purchasing alcohol for himself for a bit now, and Jezebel guessed that it had something to do with his reputation for getting a teensy-weensy bit too drunk just a little bit too often...

"Skip I'm fifteen... where in the hell do you expect me to get beer for you?" She shot at him.

"Take Jayboy with you. He can get beer outta the store down the street, can'tcha, Jayboy? Or your friend here certainly looks old enough to buy beer..." Skip glanced at Bret hopefully.

"Yes sir." Bret started.

"SIR? You don't know how long it's been since someone's called me sir. Skip works just fine, you don't hafta act like a goodie-goodie for us, we've got Stacy for that... fuck, even my own daughter calls me Skip, and she hasn't called me dad in her entire life. Get outta here you three." Skip grabbed onto Jayboy's shirt collar and stopped him from retreating into the back room and almost pushing him into Jezebel.

"Jay I don't want to sound like an alkie or anything, but can you get me any mescaline and vodka from anywhere around here? Some bhang would be good too... last week, man... I hate Tony. Pwease?" Jezebel whispered to Jay as they walked down the street.

She was amazed that he was actually walking without protest and not skating.

"Come on Jezi, you know I don't do that anymore... but... I'll see what I can do. For you only, though. But you know I don't like you doing that stuff either." Jay folded as Jezebel employed her puppy dog face.

"Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you, Jay. It's just... I don't know." She cheered, hugging Jay around the middle.

"Piggyback?"

"What are you, twelve?" Jay jested, pausing as Jezebel stepped away from him a bit; she sprung onto his back a second later.

"No, six. Where are we going, Jayboy? Shit, Skip didn't give me any money." Jezebel remembered.

Jay spoke what she was thinking. "He probably did it on purpose."

They stopped in front of a small party store and Jay dropped her onto her feet.

"I'd better go in alone, Jeff'll be more likely to let me buy if I'm alone... and he's in a good mood. Sorry dude, I don't think he'd give you beer for free." He left her and Bret standing outside.

They leaned against the brick storefront. Jezebel watched Jay through the glass. She turned around and looked at Bret.

"So... what's up with you and... Jay, is it? You two seem pretty close. How long have you known him?" His eyes held an inquisitive, but not prying look.

"We're just friends, don't worry. Jayboy's too busy chasing six girls at once to have an actual girlfriend. I've actually known him since I was three... Skip left me at his mom's place a lot when I was younger."

"Oh. That's cool. So what'd you ask him?" Bret was starting to get a little nervous around Jezebel. She and Jay weren't together, and he hadn't seen her with anyone or heard anything, which made him hopeful. He was three years older than her, but it wasn't that big of a difference.

Jezebel adjusted her tight black shirt, pulling it down over her flat tummy. She was very skinny Bret decided as he glanced over at her quickly. She was looking the other direction at Jay, who was now walking out of the store with a giant paper bag in his arms. Bret admired the way the setting sun seemed to glitter through her hair. She tucked the beautiful blonde locks behind her ear at that moment. It was the same colour and texture as her father's, thick and slightly wavy, medium blonde. It curled at the ends, reminding him of tiny springs. He noticed a scar underneath her ear, the cartilage piercing, the birthmark on her neck. He noticed many things about her. But the thing he noticed the most was her thinness. She was almost too thin.

A slightly buzzed girl walked over to a tall boy who stood in the corner of Zephyr with a red plastic cup in his hand. The boy was nowhere near buzzed, he wasn't really that much of a drinker; contrarily, the when the girl drank, she drank to forget. She drank to forget about the alcoholism that ran in her family, to forget the drug problem that she refused to acknowledge as such, to forget how thin she was and how she longed to have normal eating habits for once. Jezebel's ice-cold fingers trailed up and down Bret's arm, making the little hairs stand up there.

"Hey Bret, how's it?" Her eyes sparkled.

Across the room, a curly-haired boy watched Jezebel enviously as she approached the tall boy, running her fingers over his arm. He watched as Bret shivered a bit and said something. This boy glared across the room at the back of Jezebel, who was completely oblivious to his would-be attentions. The boy focused on Jezebel's fingernails, painted black with French-style tips, as they scraped slowly along the other boy's arm again.

"Not too bad, I guess. Who's this curly-haired guy over there, he's been looking at you for quite some time now and I don't like that look." Bret asked, guiding her around by her arm to stand next to him.

Jezebel immediately spotted Bret's concern. Red Dog.

"Oh don't worry, that's just Red Dog. I've known him forever. He's probably brooding about something." Jezebel answered, turning back to Bret.

In her head, Jezebel was shuffling through every reason she could possibly come up with as to why Red Dog seemed to be glaring at her and Bret. She couldn't find a single one.

"It's not a problem, don't worry about it. Let's just have some fun tonight, I don't know when I'm gonna see you again. Wanna dance with me?" She asked, stowing her closed drink in the pocket of her baggy jeans.

"Well you should be seeing me a lot more now, I'm moving to the apartments on Pacific Ocean Avenue." He knew that would make her happy, and he let her tug him out onto the dance floor.

She danced very close to him that night, wondering vaguely about Red Dog in the back of her mind.

In the morning Jezebel awoke safely in her own room. She could hear Bret snoring softly on the couch sofa through her doorless, sempty doorframe. Posters lined her walls; a canopy bed with black coverings rested against one wall, directly opposite a medium-sized window. The room was small and cluttered, with various items lying around, some balanced precariously on top of others; piles of clothes that she could identify as neither clean nor dirty littered one corner. Her room was messy, just the way she liked it. Her memory rushed back to her, and she could safely say that she had come home on her own accord and dressed herself in an oversized t-shirt and terrycloth tennis shorts.

She crossed the hall to the little bathroom where she surveyed herself in the mirror. They'd arrived home around four AM, and Jezebel had been able to do little else besides change and fall into bed. This was apparent by her messy, ratted hair and partially rubbed off eye makeup. She went to the kitchen and began cooking bacon and cinnamon rolls. 'The breakfast of champions', she thought. Soon the aromas of her two favourite breakfast foods drifted through the house. Her days were odd; some days she ate nothing, others, she ate so much she feared she'd gain ten pounds. Today was going to be one of those days, she could tell. Luckily she was good at hiding it.


	4. Tattooed and Pierced

**Paint It Black: the Story of Jezebel Engblom**

_Chapter 4: Tattooed and Pierced_

(A/N: Lyrics to 'Running Away' by Hoobastank do not belong to me, and neither does Lords of Dogtown. Only Jezebel, Bret, and the plot are my property! I thought the lyrics fit especially well for Jezebel's situation.)

'I don't want you

To give it all up,

And leave your own life collecting dust;

And I don't want you to feel sorry for me,

You never gave us a chance to be.

And I don't need you

To be by my side,

To tell me that everything's alright;

I just wanted you

To tell me the truth,

You know I'd do that for you.'

She heard Bret stirring in the living room; she hoped it was because of her cooking. Soon he dragged himself into the kitchen, clad in yesterday's jeans; it had been too hot that night for a shirt. Jezebel turned and smiled at him.

"I thought of this last night... how come no one calls you 'Bella'? I figured that might be some sort of nickname you'd use... it seems to fit you." Bret questioned gently.

"When I was little, everyone called me Bella. Except for Jay. He called me Bella sometimes, but his favourite nickname for me was Jezi. After a while, I guess it just stuck." She recounted.

"Oh. Well guess what? I'm gonna call you Bella. I think it's beautiful. What are you cooking? Do you need any help?" Bret was not at all focused on her answer as he sat at the kitchen table, purposely behind her.

He was more interested in her legs, which seemed to stretch for miles and miles. He had just noticed this when she turned around, a pan of sizzling bacon in her hand. She swiftly grabbed three plates out of a nearby cupboard and placed them on the table, putting one directly in front of him. She knew what he was thinking about as she slid four slices of crispy bacon onto his plate; he immediately picked one up, instantly dropping it back.

"Ahh! Hot!" He whimpered, cradling his grease-burned first finger and thumb in his other hand.

"Well you dummy, if you were paying attention to the BOILING HOT BACON that I'd just put on your plate and NOT my LEGS, you wouldn't be in this situation! ...Hey, don't glare at my poor bacon like that! It has feelings too, you know! Or at least, it did." She mocked playfully, giggling at him as he glared at the bacon suspiciously.

She ruffled his hair before taking the cinnamon rolls out of the oven and setting them on the hot plate she'd put on the table.

"Don't touch the rolls until I get back! You wouldn't want to burn yourself again!" She ran off into the other room to wake Skip.

"No touchy!" She shouted, just as Bret was reaching for a sticky roll.

His hand immediately retracted. 'How does she do that?' He wondered. Pretty soon she heard someone pounding on a door, and subsequently a person falling to the floor. He listened as a shouting match broke out in the hallway; Jezebel must have won, because minutes later Skip was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, barely awake. He shoveled bacon and rolls into his mouth, almost methodically, as Jezebel popped open a beer and handed it to him. She didn't like it, but she was sure that was what he needed to begin the day.

"Gonna get my tattoo today, gonna get it cool... oh, and my piercing I guess." She finished her food and bounced off into her bedroom.

Jezebel was having a hard time trying to decide what to wear. She didn't exactly understand why she wanted to look extra special today, but apparently she did. Bret was having a hard time trying to decide what he thought of Jezebel. All he could think about were her legs, those perfect legs of hers. Jezebel decided on a long, flowing black skirt and a band tank top. 'The Allman Brothers', it read.

Bret decided that he was attracted to Jezebel. Somewhat strongly. But what did she think of him? She hadn't known him for that long, but then again she did pick him out of a crowd of thousands to talk to at a concert and distract her from her favourite band. He absently clicked his tongue ring against his bottom teeth. Skip glanced at him, still shoveling food in, and shook his head. Bret guzzled down the glass of orange juice that Jezebel had set out for him, to look preoccupied. He put his dishes in the sink and went to find her.

Jezebel sat in the bathroom, perched on the sink as she always did. A tube of liquid eyeliner was poised in her hand, heading toward her already lined left eye. She was just darkening it when Bret entered the bathroom behind her.

"Can I use some of that? It does wonders for dark circles." He asked. "Can you put it on me, though?"

Jezebel turned around and faced him. He settled himself in front of her and angled his eyes toward the ceiling. She put a tiny line of black on the rim of each eye as gently as possible and made him look in the mirror.

"You only need very little; your eyes are beautiful brown." She commented, turning back around to finish her own makeup. When she was satisfied she hopped down from the counter; he stopped her as her feet hit the floor.

"I really want to ask you... I know we just met a few days ago, but, what do you think? Do you think anything about me? I - I was just wondering." His eyes were so sincere as she stared into them. The dark pools seemed to swallow her, entrancing her with their spell.

"Bret, I do think about you. In fact, I think a lot about you. But right now I just don't know yet. We will have to see where life takes us, I guess. And if we're meant to be, we will be." She hugged him, tugging at his hand. "C'mon... put your shirt on and we'll go to the tattoo shop, okay? It's almost noon."

Jezebel sat in Marco's chair as he went over her paperwork. Ten minutes later, she was holding her therobbing lip in her hand.

"Now, don't play with it. It's gonna take three to four months to heal completely. You need to keep it clean; try not to touch it too much. You really shouldn't kiss anyone until it's healed, because it'll make it possible to get an infection or worse; I don't recommend smoking or drinking unless you can clean it right away. Stay healthy and get extra sleep. If you follow these, you'll get the best effect. Okay? It's probably going to be sore, tender, or red for a few days or maybe even a few weeks. But you'll love it, I'm sure. Do you want to go ahead with the tattoo now or reschedule? I know it's hard to think about anything other than your lip." At this point Jezebel wasn't sure if she could handle getting the tattoo today on top of the piercing, but decided she would. She nodded her head, afraid to speak.

"Okay, but only as long as you're sure. I'll take frequent breaks so it's not a huge shock all at once." He threw the used needle in the trash and readied his tattoo supplies.

She motioned Bret over and grabbed his hand as the needle buzzed to life.

After an hour of sitting in the store Jezebel was being escorted out by Bret, who was literally holding her up. He actually stopped after a while and picked her up; she buried her head in his t-shirt and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel her bones, practically count her ribs through her top. It was almost scary.

Bret laid Jezebel carefully on the couch in her apartment. He then sat in the armchair across from her and watched her sleep. She woke after about two hours; he had just sat there the entire time, watching. She was beautiful, he thought. She sat up and looked at him, rubbing at her eyes with her fists. She began to talk, but after about a second gave up the effort as she realized that her piercing was swollen too much for her to be able to speak.

_Six months later_

Jezebel had lost a lot of weight recently. It was partly because of her piercing, partly because of wanting to look good for Bret (even though he didn't care what she looked like, as long as she'd agree to go out with him when he asked her tomorrow), and partly because of her fluctuating emotions. She had become a much better surfer within these last few months, taking second place in a recent competition in Los Angeles. Her sixteenth birthday was tomorrow, and that was why Bret was so anxious to tell her how he felt. He wanted it to be special for both of them. Then they could look back on it and remember what a great day it was.

They had come very close to kissing the other day, but stopped themselves when they realized people were staring. Both had blushed profusely and kept walking. Jay was always excited for Jezebel no matter what happened, and this had increased considerably in the past few months. Bret also talked to him now; it was actually Jay's idea for him to ask her out on her birthday, because Jay knew that she'd wanted something like that to happen since she was eleven years old.

While Bret worried about what he'd get her for her birthday and how she felt about him and whether or not she'd agree when he asked her out, Jezebel was worried about what she was feeling for Bret. She felt that they had the potential to become more than friends, it was just a matter of when to bring the subject up. She was, as usual, completely oblivious to the things that were happening right under her nose.

He ran around downtown, dragging Jay along behind him into every store he saw.

"You're her best friend, would she like this? How about this? This? No, this one! What do you think of this?" He was practically frantic. In the six months he had known him, Bret had always presented him as a perfectly calm, relaxed, laid-back individual. Apparently, now Jay was experiencing the other side to that story. He rolled his eyes as he was dragged along again. He was actually kind of enjoying this... he stood on his skateboard and Bret basically pulled him along behind.

The same could not be said for the poor individual who was currently pulling him along. He was so frustrated with himself that he almost passed the store with the perfect gift in the window. Realizing his mistake so quickly forced Jay to stop quickly, which in turn sent the two boys tumbling down together.

Bret jumped up and helped Jay. "I found it! Oh, she'll love it! That one, there... the tiger. And that tapestry." He pointed inside the shop at a giant stuffed white tiger and a large splatter-painted tapestry with a neon green peace sign on it. As he entered, the beaded door hangers caught his attention.

By the time they left, Jay was laden down with the giant tiger and his skateboard, since he could no longer skate with the giant stuffie; Bret walked next to him carrying the tapestry and the black wooden-beaded door hanger.

They got to Bret's apartment and he went to call the pizza place to call off work for tomorrow. The day was going to be completely dedicated to Jezebel. He had it all planned out: he'd go to her apartment the next day around nine; Skip would be at work then. She'd still be asleep when he got there, and he'd set up her gifts at the foot of her bed; then he'd just hold her and she'd wake up in his arms.

Nothing could faze him as he scampered around the apartment excitedly. Jay idly sat on Bret's small green couch, fiddling with the tiger's ears. Bret rambled on and on, and Jay sat there nodding, as if he were actually paying attention. Ridiculous, right? Well, tomorrow was going to be WAY more insane.


	5. More Than One Birthday Surprise

**Paint It Black: the Story of Jezebel Engblom**

_Chapter 5: More Than One Birthday Surprise_

(A/N: This chapter is very progressive, I thought. I'm on a roll! Reach for the Sky by Social Distortion does not belong to me.)

'So if you please take this moment;

Try if you can to make it last.

Don't think about no future,

And just forget about the past

And make it last.'

Jezebel awakened on Saturday morning, her sixteenth birthday, with a pounding headache. She rolled out of bed and onto the floor, bumping her head on the nightstand. It was two hours earlier than she would normally wake up on a Saturday if she were not surfing, putting the time at about eight o'clock in the morning. This, though she didn't know yet, would throw a wrench into Bret's wonderful gift-giving plan.

She crossed the hall into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She stepped in and immediately bolted back out of the tub again as the freezing water shocked her body awake.

"What the fuck?" She shouted, grabbing a towel and rushing out of the bathroom.

She banged on Skip's door with the free fist that wasn't clutching at the towel. "What the fuck happened to the hot water, Skip?"

Skip stumbled to his door and opened it, supporting himself with the doorframe. "Ah shit, the hot wa'er prolly go shu' off agin..." He slurred, slightly hung-over from the previous night's party festivities.

"God... that's it, I'm going to Bret's. Get up and go to work, Skip! Why do I always feel like I'm the parent?" Jezebel fumed, stomping off to her room.

"Wha', no breakfast?"

"NO! TAKE AN ASPIRIN AND GO TO WORK, DAMNIT!" She screamed from her bedroom, yanking on underclothes, black track pants, and a green t-shirt.

She stuffed some clothes into her book bag, along with some things to do, a pair of Vans and one of combat boots, makeup, a brush, and various other items. She nearly forgot to grab her set of keys, just in case Skip decided to lock the house for once. In the garage she climbed barefoot onto Skip's old bicycle and pedaled to Bret's apartment, oversized bag bulging with things.

She stowed her bike under the first set of stairs. It was one of those outside apartments, and she had to climb up four decks to get to his door, room 483, and knock as lightly as she could. She didn't dare wake anyone up here before nine o'clock. A confused Bret opened the door, messily clothed in an old t-shirt and jeans.

"Bella? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be... uh, can you hold on one second?" He yelped, closing the door on her without inviting her inside.

She sighed and rested against the railing. Her head was still pounding terribly when he opened the door again and motioned her inside.

"What was that for? Never mind, I don't care right now... can I ask you a big favour?" She looked slightly hurt.

"I guess, go ahead."

"Bret, can I stay with you for a while? I can't stand living with Skip right now. They shut the hot water off this morning, and we're about two months behind on the electric bill so I expect they'll cut that off soon too. I really just need somewhere to crash for a bit. You'll hardly notice me... do you mind?" She asked, falling onto his old but very comfortable couch.

"You can stay for as long as you want; but running away from your problems won't help, darling. Do you want something to eat? I have toast." He offered, leaning down and hugging her with one arm.

"No, that's okay, all I really need is an aspirin and a shower right now... can you help me out?"

"No problem. The bathroom's in here... sorry it's not so nice." He said, guiding her to a small green-tiled bathroom. A black and calico cat perched on the closed toilet seat.

"That's just Xochitl, she loves water. You don't mind, do you?" He looked uneasy for a second, as if he did not expect Jezebel to take lightly to cats.

"Oh no, I love cats." She scratched Xochitl between the ears and set her bag on the ground, emptying its contents on the bathroom floor to sort through them.

She put her toothbrush, brush, and makeup out, leaving everything else strewn across the bathroom floor as she closed the door, turned the water on, and jumped in the shower.

Bret paced around his small living room, the gifts for Jezebel sitting on the couch in front of him. He'd wrapped the tapestry and door beads in newspaper, which was serving as makeshift wrapping paper. The tiger sat on the middle cushion, staring at him.

Jezebel stepped out of the shower and opened the bathroom cabinet. She took out a bottle of aspirin and popped three of them into her mouth. The bottle said to only take one, but she never did. She unceremoniously grabbed a black halter top out of the pile of stuff on the floor and slid that on, choosing an acid yellow, floor-length skirt to go with it. She pulled on her boots, smothered her eyes with heavy black eyeliner, and brushed her unruly hair. She brushed her teeth and stuffed all of her things into her bag, spraying herself with cologne before she exited the bathroom.

Bret stood outside; he had changed into a clean white t-shirt with a blazer over it, though he wore the same light pair of jeans. He had planned on doing laundry today down at the laundromat, but he was determined to devote his entire day to Jezebel. He had even gelled his hair into a fauxhawk and applied some eyeliner that he'd bought at the store yesterday. She wondered what the special occasion was; then she remembered that she was sixteen today.

"You were born on this day, July 12, 1961, at 3:35 AM in Manhattan, New York; your mother named you Jezebel because she knew you'd be a beautiful rebel. On January 16, 1964, she dropped you off at the home of Skip Engblom, your father. And on August 5, 1976, I met you at a Sex Pistols concert. You were beautiful, and you tapped me on the shoulder and started talking to me. We exchanged numbers. Today is July 12, 1977, and you are sixteen years old. I know so many things about you, but there's one question I've wanted to ask you for a few months now. I was wondering if you'd go out with me." He looked at her hopefully, leading her to the couch.

He sat down on the left side and motioned for her to take a seat opposite him; he took her hands in his. She opened and closed her mouth a few times.

"Ah... uh... I... okay." She said uncertainly, eyes sparkling. This was amazing. She was close to speechless as she hopped across the couch and kissed him on the cheek, hugging him tightly around the middle.

"These are for you." He mumbled into her hair as she pressed herself against him. A huge smile plastered itself across his face, but it was unnoticeable because Jezebel's head was still pressed against him.

"I'm in a much better mood now... so I guess I should go and apologize to Skip for storming out. But I really don't want to live there anymore. Do you mind if I still crash here for a while?" She looked up at him.

"Stay for as long as you want, babe." He said, caressing her back.

Jezebel and Bret walked into Zephyr hand-in-hand, and she walked straight through the store to the back room. She smelled the heavy scent of pot in the air, but thought nothing of it; it was a continuous smell these days. Skip sat in the back room with one of the guys that worked for the shop, smoking a joint and listening to the radio. The other guy was, as usual, making fun of Sid, who swept the floor half-heartedly. He didn't really do anything, it just got worse again anyway; Skip could never tell the difference between clean and dirty.

"Skip, I'm sorry I screamed at you and stormed out of the house this morning. But I just can't take living with you anymore. I'm going to stay with Bret for a while now. Dude, you really need to pay the water bill, though. And the electricity." She reminded him; she thought back to earlier when she couldn't help but feel like the parent in the situation.

"Hey, kid, don't worry about it, 'kay? I got it under control. You just worry about your birthday today." Skip did not seem to understand that he'd be living completely primitive if he didn't pay some bills soon.

"Sure, Skip. Whatever; never mind." She turned to go.

"Hey, Jez, wait. Pick a board out; it'll be your birthday present. I'm kind of tight on cash right now." Jezebel rolled her eyes at Skip's lame excuse.

"No shit." She mumbled under her breath. On the way out of the shop she selected a plain black surfboard from the shelf, pulling it out the door along with her and Bret.

"So, uh, what did you want to do today, Bella?" Bret asked once they were outside and headed back toward his apartment.

"I thought I'd go and look into getting my driver license. It would be great if I was able to drive Skip's truck around, _legally, _instead of walking." Jezebel had wanted to get her license for a long while. Skip had tried to teach her to drive, but most of what she knew she had learned from Stacy, who had his own car, lots of patience, and was not drunk very often.

"Euhm... where does that happen again?" Bret still didn't have his license, and he couldn't afford a car either, so it didn't really matter.

"At the DMV. Unfortunately, it is downtown. Wanna come with? I've only got a bike... it's got pegs though." Jezebel smiled to herself at the thought of Bret on the back of a bicycle with his fauxhawk and leather jacket.

Jezebel pulled a large black sweatshirt out of her overstuffed bag and put it on.

"I guess."

The bicycle wobbled along with Bret on the back pegs, Jezebel pedaling away as quickly as she could. Bret had a mildly horrified expression on his face; Jezebel grinned a wide Cheshire cat grin.

The DMV was a small, dingy building in the very middle of town right next to a seedy sandwich shop, the kind that wasn't uncommon in mid-town. Jezebel locked the bike around a lamppost, which she was amazed still stood. The front desk was occupied by an ancient woman and the line was very short; nevertheless she tapped her foot impatiently. The line moved quickly. The lady behind the desk peered at her through squinting eyes; Jezebel guessed that her vision was failing.

"How old are you, dear?" The woman asked, a slight superiority overtaking her tone.

"I'm sixteen, thank you very much. I just want my license; can we get this over with?" Jezebel snapped back in a rude voice. The receptionist pulled out a giant heap of paperwork, which Jezebel eyed warily, adding an overdramatic sigh.

"That was madness. Pure, utter madness." Jezebel complained as she sped along to Zephyr with a sour attitude, just one of the many side-effects their trip to the DMV entailed.

Another included a wicked case of carpal tunnel syndrome, most likely from signing her name in 1000 places. She flung the door open and almost sent a z-boy sprawling; he had been leaning casually against the door, but caught himself before he crashed to the ground and was trampled by Jezebel. She heard some whispering and giggling coming from the back room; a blonde head popped slyly around the doorframe, hoping to be inconspicuous; the boy who had been leaning against the door had been the lookout for the past hour. He bolted into the room, shoving the blonde head back in.

"What the-" Jezebel began, pulling Bret's hand.

When she reached the small break room in the back, a mass of blonde heads popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, with some other haircolours sprinkled throughout; they were all crowded around a black second-hand acoustic guitar. Jezebel had played guitar since she was twelve, though she'd never owned one herself. She had been in band in school every single year since the age of 10, which did not require her to produce her own instruments.

Stacy stepped forward, followed by Shogo and Peggy.

"It's for you." Stacy said, grinning expectantly.

"We all went in on it..." Peggy added, moving slightly closer to Stacy.

"We know you played since middle school, kid. Now you got your own." Shogo gestured toward the guitar.

"Go on, pick it up. Play something." Jay's voice escaped from the back of the mob crowded into the small space.

Jezebel reached for the neck of the guitar; Bret handed her the strap. "Did you know about this?"

"Yeah..." Bret nodded shyly, placing the strap over her right shoulder.

She played the first few notes of 'Iron Man'; Wentzle ran in from outside.

"I got the picks, guys, any sign of her yet?" He skidded to a halt, nearly knocking Jezebel off her feet. His face turned an embarrassing shade of puce.

"Heh-heh... I see you've... you've discovered your present. Well... here are some picks so your fingers don't bleed as much!" He chuckled stupidly, placing five small triangles into her palm.

Jezebel stuck all of the picks into her pocket, except for one. This one was old and sort of worn, but it felt the best in her fingers as she grasped it, pulling it along over the strings. She played a few chords of a song she'd used to play in school.

"Hello?" A voice shouted from the front of the shop. "Anybody home? Knock knock." The voice was female.

Jezebel handed the guitar to Jay, who was closest and casually walked out front.

"Can I help you... ma'am?" She tacked on a term of authority, on occasion of her birthday.

"I'm looking for Jezebel. Jezebel Engblom. Or I assume her name is now Engblom. Do you know where I might find her? Or Skip Engblom, he would work as well." The woman had long brunette hair and green eyes; she was only a few inches taller than Jezebel.

"...That's me, I'm Jezebel. What of it?" Jezebel asked suspiciously, crossing her arms out of habit.

Bret walked out of the back room and put a hand on Jezebel's shoulder for support.

"I'm Lita Ingersoll. I'm your mother. God, you look nothing like I remember you."

Jezebel almost lost her balance; Bret caught her around the middle and stood her back up. She leaned back against him, for both physical and mental support. She'd felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. Skip never talked about her mother; he had only told her that she'd left when Jezebel was three. Now she was just going to walk in again?

"Okay, what's this about? And what do you mean by coming here and suddenly announcing this?" Bret could no longer restrain himself while this woman, who claimed to be Jezebel's mother, waltzed into his girlfriend's life and tore it down with a few choice words.

"I just came by to say 'Happy Birthday' to my little girl is all." Her mother tried to sound sympathetic.

"That's bullshit, Lita. What do you need? Is it money, what? Why are you showing up now, after all of this time? I'm sixteen! I've lived without you this long, never knowing who you were; I couldn't even remember what you looked like." Jezebel's eyes were beginning to water; she roughly pushed them back with her mind.

"Okay, Jezebel Lola Engblom. There is something I need. And you are the only one who can help me with this..." Lita began.

Whatever it was, Jezebel was certain that it would not be something that she could just let go when everything was all over.


	6. All of My Memories

**Paint it Black: the Story of Jezebel Engblom**

_Chapter 6: All of My Memories_

(Disclaimer: I don't own LoDt or Slipped Away by Avril Lavigne. Written for Dahlia Faith Black and for Becky, who motivated to keep this going as long as I did.)

'Now you're gone, now you're gone;

There you go, there you go,

Somewhere I can't bring you back;

Now you're gone, now you're gone,

There you go, there you go,

Somewhere you're not coming back.'

_Three-year-old Jezebel squirmed out of Skip's arms and ran down the sidewalk after her mother's car. Tears streamed down her face and she screamed her mother's name; she was ignored as she could no longer run, and her mother's car disappeared down the street. She sat down on the curb, sobbing; a boy, about six years old, sat down next to her. He had a mass of curly red hair and soft eyes; he was very tall for a six year old. _

"_What's wrong? Don't cry! It's okay!" He said, pulling gently at the ends of her long, wavy blonde hair. _

_He hugged the small child, patting her back sympathetically._

"_Who are you?" Jezebel sniffled as the tears stopped pouring out of her eyes; she looked up at the boy, who was now hugging her tightly._

"_I'm Jimmy; my mom calls me Boo. You can call me Boo, too, if you want! What's your name? And why are you crying? I hate it when girls cry..." The boy wrinkled his nose slightly and pulled back from Jezebel._

"_I'm Jezebel, but eveone calls me Bella. And I'm not crying! My... my mama just left me here. With my daddy that I nev'r met afore. Be my friend, Jimmy?" Jezebel's eyes shined with tears still._

_At this point, Skip walked calmly over to Jezebel and picked her up._

"_Come on, li'l one."_

"_Bye-bye, Jimmy!" Jezebel waved to her new friend, waving sadly._

"_I'll be your friend, Bella!" Jim shouted at her as Skip carried her away; he turned and ran away down the street._

_Jezebel didn't know that Jim was a friend of the boy whom she would come to know as her best friend._

Jezebel stood inside Zephyr, leaning against Bret; she stared at her mother, who leaned against the counter in front of her.

"Okay, you wanna know why I'm here? I want child support from Skip. After all, you are my daughter too." Jezebel could sense evil in Lita's voice, though she let Bret speak for her.

"Wait a second, you DUMPED your DAUGHTER here with Skip THIRTEEN YEARS AGO, and NOW you want CHILD SUPPORT! You have GOT to be KIDDING ME!" Bret practically screamed, red creeping up his face.

All of this time, Jezebel had been staring at her mother's eyes. They were bloodshot, sunken, and her pupils were dilated; she shook slightly as she stood there, fiddling with her scarred hands; her fingers were covered with open wounds. Jezebel stepped forward and pulled her mother's long sleeve up. She gaped at he track marks on her mother's arm.

"You bitch. You don't want child support. You want habit support; so, _mom,_ how long have you been addicted? And why do you pick now, of all times, to come barging back into my life. How can you call yourself a mother?" Jezebel pinched Bret's arm; he could have sworn that her voice spoke in his head, though that was just his imagination. He crept slowly away to the back room, where only Jay and Tony still remained.

"Guys, help us out. Jezebel's mother is here, and we think she's high. She's trying to blackmail Skip. Go and block the door, okay? I'm going to call the cops. Don't let her out, no matter what. And... make sure Bella's alright?" Both Jay and Tony gave sharp nods and silently walked out of the room; Bret picked up the telephone receiver from the wall.

"...Jezebel... listen to me. I have a problem, and I need money to fix it. I need to get to rehab. Bella, baby, that's why I left you here with your father... because I knew I couldn't take care of you the way I was... I thought you'd have a better life here. I just wanted what was best for you, baby please help me..." Tears began to roll slowly down Lita's face.

Jezebel watched Jay and Tony emerge from the back room out of the corner of her eye; Tony walked over to the door, while Jay came to stand by her side. Bret stood in the back room, speaking to the 911 operator.

"Don't call me baby, mother. I'm sixteen. You know my life hasn't been any different than it could have been if I was with you. Do you have any idea what it's like to grow up without a mother? Skip doesn't know anything about makeup, or what size clothes I wear, or what a decent time for a sixteen year old girl to be home by is. He can't help with bras, or where babies come from since he's always drunk, or why mommy isn't around. He can barely even take care of himself. And you think my life has been better this way?" Jay put his arm around Jezebel's shoulders.

Jezebel's mother stood there, awestruck, unable to respond.

"There was no way I could possibly know that..." Her mother said timidly.

"Oh, of course not. Because you can't think about anything but yourself. I want you to get out of here. Don't come back, we don't want you. You better not have any drugs on you, because the police are here." Jezebel said, as she watched a police car appear outside the shop.

Everything went pretty quickly after that.

_ Jezebel sat in the back of the car in her car seat as she watched her mother, who was standing outside the vehicle with a tall, blonde haired man. She gave him money, he gave her something. Her mother got back into the car, waited for the man to turn the corner, and turned the keys in the ignition. _

"_Momma, who?" Her mother ignored her. _

_ Her hair was stringy; they'd been living in the car for the past two weeks. Her mother pulled off of the road at a small motel and went inside, leaving her daughter in the car._

She was snapped out of her flashback as she was crushed to Bret in a giant, bone-snapping bear hug. Jezebel stared blankly out the door, watching the cop car pull away with her mother in the back seat. She made no effort to hug back; her body went limp, and Bret supported her weight against him.

"Let's go home." The words came out in a nearly inaudible whisper, and Bret had to listen very closely to even hear them.

"Of course." He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the front door.

Jay watched Bret carry Jezebel out the door. They'd forgotten the guitar. He picked it up and played part Smoke on the Water, before slinging over his back. He was going to deliver it. He could still see them a ways down the road. Jay grabbed his skateboard and went after them. Jezebel managed to raise her head above Bret's shoulder with some difficulty. She could hear the grinding of wheels on cement; she saw Jay speeding toward them, guitar slung over his back. She remembered once, when they were about nine.

_ They sat side-by-side on the sand; they'd both snuck out of the house. It was way after nine o' clock, bedtime. Honestly, it wasn't really that hard to do, when you thought about it. Jezebel's window was nearly ground level and Jay would wriggle out of his window onto the roof. The sand was cool now, the sun long set. Jay turned to Jezebel._

"_Bella, can we try something?" He asked._

"_Something like what?" She looked over at him, tossing some sand onto his bare legs and jean shorts._

"_I want to kiss you." He stated bluntly._

"Why_?" She scrunched up her face._

"_Because I like you. That's what you do when you like someone, I think." He looked down at the sand in earnest._

"_Okay. How do you do it? I've only seen in movies." She said honestly._

"_Like this." He awkwardly grabbed her face and pushed their lips together, then moved away._

"_Wow. That was weird... can we do it again?" Jezebel coughed a bit and then stared right at him._

"_Yeah. Slower, though. And don't slobber on me." _

"_Slobber on _you? _You kissed me!" She crossed her arms indignantly._

"_Oh shut up." He moved toward her again, only slower. _

_He didn't grab her face this time. He only leaned in and kissed her softly. Jezebel sighed and flopped down onto her back; Jay lay down next to her, staring up at the stars._

"_You're good at that." Jezebel said, pushing her sun-bleached hair out of her face._

_Jay rolled over onto his side. "You really think so?" He questioned._

"_Yes. I liked it. We should do that more often."_

Jezebel woke up as Bret placed her on the couch in his apartment. Jay stood in the doorway, guitar in one hand, skateboard in the other.

"Forgot your gift. Sorry 'bout your mom." He said, propping the instrument up at the other end of the couch; he gave her a quick hug before disappearing through the front door once more.

Bret appeared from the kitchen, glasses of something in his hands.

"I thought you could use this. Are you okay?" He asked, handing her one of the drinks.

"I'm alright, I guess. That was just so hard." Jezebel said, taking a large gulp of whatever was in the cup and almost spluttering it right back out as it burned her throat. Then she started to laugh. "Ahh. Whiskey. I expected water or something. Thanks for that."

She kicked him lightheartedly in the leg, laughing harder.

"Ooph! You think that's funny, do you?" He asked, faking a stern tone as he crouched down and took both of their drinks, setting them on the side table before pushing his lips on hers.

"Oh!" Jezebel jumped, slightly shocked.

Bret's arms went to her sides and began tickling her, lips still keeping her from giggling out loud. She grabbed him and pulled him down on top of her. He stopped tickling and rested his head in the crook of her neck.

"I figured we needed some lightening up... this day became so serious so fast." He said into her neck, muffled slightly.

They slowly fell into sleep, Bret's face covered by Jezebel's long hair.


End file.
